In Addition to St Vin's: Skittery's Story
by P.P.S
Summary: "Guess a little blood finally got Mom's attention." "You cut yourself open for attention?" "At lease she stopped screaming at me for awhile and just started screaming." Rated for language.


(Um, I dunno if it's just me... but fanfiction isn't putting in my summary. Or at lease it doesn't when I go and check it. So here it is if you, like me, can't see it: "Guess a little blood finally got mom's attention." "You cut yourself open for attention?" "At lease she stopped screaming at me for awhile and just started screaming.").  
  
In Addition to St. Vins - Skittery's Story written by Polecat  
  
Disclaimer: Skittery is owned by Disney, I offered them home made cookies for him but still they refused. All else can be pinned on me.  
  
My Comment: Just as I officially decided to take a break from fanfic writing, this little wonder makes itself present. I was re-reading St. Vins and Skitt's line "At lease she stopped screaming at me for awhile and just started screaming" kinda got to me. So, we present this fic. Thanks to Spot!Muse and KB!Muse, they're my more serious fellows so this must have come from one of them.  
  
There is also a challenge at the end of the fic, read on ahead.  
  
*1*  
  
Zackary Benedek, you're shit. You're a worthless shit. You're just like your old man, a no good piece of shit. You'll never amount to anything. You'll be a thief, just like him. You'll end up with three bastard kids, just like him. You'll beat on your wife and kids, just like him. So why don't you do yourself a favor -do us all a favor- and just kill yourself now.  
  
I hate me, and I hate life. If it wasn't my Dad beating on me, making me the skittery shit I am; it's my mother screaming at me wishing I was never born.  
  
*I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all.* No, that's wrong. I do want to die. I hate my life, everyone who knows me hates me. If your own mother can't love you, who else can?  
  
*Mama, just killed a man, put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he's dead.* I'm too much of a chicken shit to blow my brains out, so I've got a razor instead. Standing inside the bathroom, palms gripping the porcelain tub, blood spilling down to the prefect white tiles.  
  
Mom is gonna freak, she hates when I make messes. 'Zackary, clean the fucking kitchen you slob.' 'Get your ass up and go to school, worthless bastard.' 'You're gonna end up just like your father. You and him are made from the same mold, I should have rid my life of the both of you a long time ago.'  
  
Well, no need to now, Mom, I'll do it for you. You won't have to yell at me for watching t.v. when Cops is on. Don't gotta scream at me for putting crumbs from my toast in the butter. No more having to look at my face, the one nearly identical to my worthless piece of shit father and wishing you had aborted me when you still could of. Don't worry Mom, this'll be the last mess I ever make.  
  
"Zackary, get out of the bathroom!"  
  
Pound on the door a few more time, like it isn't falling off the hinges already.  
  
"Two punks are on the porch looking for you, 'Skittery'."  
  
God, I hate that mocking voice she uses on me.  
  
"Great name, sounds really tough. How'd you get a dumbass name like that?"  
  
Maybe it's from when Dad would drag me outta bed at night to beat me. When he'd creep out of the shadows and start punching me in every spot I couldn't cover and protect. It's probably because I got to be so skittish and afraid of my own reflection if I was caught off guard; all while protecting you.  
  
"Get the fuck out, I need to get ready for work."  
  
Remember when I'd put myself between you and him when he'd kick while you were pregnant with Rickey?  
  
"Zackary, get the fuck out of my bathroom!"  
  
Or how about that time I punched him clear in the nose when he broke yours? Remember that much?  
  
"For fucks sake, get out!"  
  
Oops, there goes the flimsy latch. Lousy welfare apartment with it's peeling paint, clogged toilet and musty smelling carpets.  
  
"Zack-- what the hell is on my floor... Oh my fucking god!"  
  
Fucking god, fucking Dad, fucking me. Christ, Mom, can't you think of a better fucking word?  
  
"Zackary what did you do?!"  
  
Don't grab my hand, eh, too late. You're not gonna get blood outta that blouse now.  
  
"Zacky, what happen? What happen? What happen?"  
  
Don't go into hysterics now, you'll alert all the neighbors. Oh, there's Jimmy, he must of heard Mom freaking out. Ha, look at that look on his face, like he's gonna faint.  
  
"Call 911! Dammit call, my son is dying!"  
  
"Skitts--"  
  
"Do it!"  
  
"Mom..."  
  
"Oh baby, my baby... Zacky, why baby?"  
  
Mom, are you actually crying? Crying... for me?  
  
"Zack--"  
  
"I love you, Mom."  
  
"I love you too, honey."  
  
"I'm not sorry."  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"For the blood. I'm sorry for the mess, but not doing it."  
  
"Why baby, tell me why."  
  
"I'm tired of being a worthless piece of shit. I'm just trying to do everyone a favor, make everyone happy. Mama I'm doing it for you."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ ~  
Six Weeks Later:  
  
"This is only until things get better."  
  
Right, Mom.  
  
"The doctors at the hospital recommended this place highly."  
  
Only to suck more money outta your pocket. Good thing for grants and HMOs, huh?  
  
"It'll be only a couple of weeks, I'm sure."  
  
I'm not.  
  
"Zackary?"  
  
Hm, the red head lady doesn't look much like a nun.  
  
"I'm Ms. Larkson, or Medda if you'd like."  
  
Kiss my ass Ma'am, if you'd like.  
  
"I'd like to officially welcome you Saint Vincent's."  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"I'm doing it for you, baby."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I love you."  
  
I don't think you do.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
* Those lyrics belong to Queen.  
  
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I haven't really written a thing in like two months, so..... I'm feeling major review withdraw! C'mon now, leave a review and feed the muses.  
  
*Muses all dash off the various hiding spots before Polecat makes them do anymore work*  
  
~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~  
  
The Challenge: To all those who have let me use one of their characters in St. Vincent's, I challenge you write their story as to how they got there. Got that? Okay, so do it, do it, do it! 


End file.
